//------------------------------// // Chapter 11: I Don't Kill Ponies // Story: The Enforcer and Her Blackmailers (Enhanced & Augmented) // by scifipony //------------------------------// It felt like one of those dreams where you become aware that you were dreaming and you feel like you've woken up. You get to make choices, talk, do things but realize you can't move and you have no control, and realize that you've woken up in another dream, the worst kind of dream, where the routine becomes nightmarish and your life depends on the outcome. Mine was based on fire and broken things. My heart beat rapidly in my chest, and my throat felt scorched like after running a race. And real. Because, it was real. I awoke finding myself mid-leap between wooden crates and cloth-covered sofas. In that frozen second, I found myself triggering a full prep spell (not a quick draw). Trapped between metal shelves stocked with boxes, stood a wide-eyed mauve unicorn with a white blaze to match the white center streaks in his violet mane. My victim was trapped, targeted, and had no place to run or dodge. He was casting no defense spell. The sleepwalker's force spell triggered. I had woken myself in time to witness an act of murder, or— Sunset Shimmer still hadn't taught me how to cancel, so I twisted with a hard jerk of my neck. The plasma bloom from the blue-green bolt shaved off the tip of his left ear and burnt off locks of his mane as it continued upward. Shearing through shelving, setting boxes on fire, scoring and blackening a plastered ceiling, and not ending before it sliced a water pipe that managed to spray the stallion and the wreckage, but totally missed the boxes I'd set alight. I screamed, "No!", as I rolled and yawed through the air, spine forward, toward shadowed obstacles, none of which were likely soft. There were many ways to cripple oneself in a fight. Spell backfire was only one. I did have some quick draw spells lined up. I instinctively knew better than to teleport when I didn't know my position, velocity, or orientation in space. I triggered Force with as much of a Barthemule omega transform I could apply to it. Paradoxically, I found myself already in an expanding sphere of blue-green, forced to complete the calculation using the transform as it collided with an end-table and a crate, one full of horseshoes from the clatter it made as it was shoved aside. As the apparition hit the floor, the barrier proved rather too elastic and since the end table was shoved against an immovable wooden bench, it still struck my rump, bruising me. Worse, the rebound sent me spinning off like a billiard ball toward a high stack of crates. Once again, the spell conformed itself, sliding like a deflated ball on the actual floor rather than keeping me centered in a sphere. Fur rubbed off as I collided, rear hooves forward, into the crates, which not unexpectedly proceeded to fall over since I'd shoved the bottom one rather hard. A searing pain shot through my right rear leg from the knee, the leg I'd sprained earlier thanks to my reaction to Streak's dive-bomb landing. This time, something tore, and I felt it happen. As the boxes toppled, I had sufficient presence of mind to scrabble away. On impact, the fading spell squirted me a pony length clear, but I still got pelted by splintered wood and a coffee mug. "Ow, ow, ow!" I cried as bouncing earthenware shards skittered away from me. I heard the sssish of streaming water and smelled smoke drifting together with the dust my crash lofted in the air. The warehouse in which we fought became otherwise deadly quiet. Fellows spoke up. "You had me square on, chap. Why did you intentionally miss the shot?" It sounded like a taunt, but I knew he was ranging—trying to discover my location, whether it was safe to run. The tactic worked both ways, and it did tell me it was safe enough for me to lever myself up on three legs and prepare to defend myself. I wobbled like an arthritic grandmother and sweated profusely. Was I bleeding or burnt? Who knew what had happened when I was sleepwalking! A quick glance uncovered no blood. I felt beat up and horribly exhausted. I saw tumbled-over furniture, exploded cartons, and scorches in every direction. How long had we been fighting? I'd used up every last splendor of my magic before, and had barely escaped with my life as a result. I looked around. 232 Canton was on a street packed tightly with brick two-story walkups, essentially what in a better neighborhood might be called toy townhouses. Warehouses lay at least three blocks further uptown. Worse, did I track him here, chase him here, or get chased here? I shouted in the opposite direction from which I'd heard his voice, between furniture, hoping the sound reflection would throw off his sense of my location. "I don't kill ponies." The moment that finished coming out of my mouth, I couldn't believe I'd said it. Grimoire never would have. My side stiffened as bruising set in. I added, more because I was tired than anything else, "I don't like to hurt ponies, either." That got a response. "Lady Grimoire is it?" Celestia on roller skates! I'd forgotten the Grimoire voice, and now my head began to ache, too. He had moved, but not far because I heard a hoof splash. I hazarded a glance around a teakwood breakfront, and through glass saw water levitate from the cleft pipe to extinguish the burning boxes. At the sound of a sudden crump, I ducked. The spraying water stopped. No average unicorn could levitate flowing water. No ponies I knew could crimp a copper pipe with Levitate. Strong, that one. I prepared Stun, not because I was good at it but because the alternative of Force my instincts demanded would probably prove too bloody accurate. I had to put him down quickly and escape before I became unable to function. I nevertheless lowered the register of my voice. "I intended to scare you into leaving Canterlot. Did I do that?" "You are scary, but that isn't what you said after you ambushed me." "What did I say?" I asked. That made him pause. I examined my surroundings as I hobbled, painfully, out of a position I could be cornered in. My ears turned and flicked as I listened for him to move. I thanked myself for the rubber edged horseshoes I'd designed to help me move silently. I saw three spots, one he had vacated between the aisle of shelves, another in a castle of stacked sofas, and another atop a catwalk that I could teleport to. I prepared vectors that tracked the targets as I walked. If I missed the catwalk, it would be all over. The upper level of the warehouse, behind me, had dirty windows that admitted the orange light of dawn. Being up over 24 hours accounted for my being tired. He said, "For starters—" He'd moved! I crouched reflexively, putting down my lame leg. Sudden stars made me wobble, but I kept my spells. I kept my spells because my team back in Baltimare had helped me burn that into my brain, like breathing. Keeping your spells saved your life, and kept your team and employer safe. "For starters, you said you were going to rip me limb from limb and roast me on a pyre to discourage nosy ponies from putting their muzzle where it didn't belong." "Huh? Really? More creative than my usual spiel." "Really?" He'd come to my north, judging by the windows. I teleported to the sofa area for better cover, then watched as my vectors for the other Teleports readjusted like wires in a pulley system, adding the vectors from the exhausted spell. I waved away the rising frost steam so it didn't flag my position before I replied, "That's a good one. I'm going to have to write it down." From my new vantage point in a bunker of sofas, some yellow, some brown, all corduroy, I couldn't see the exits. The windows didn't show a neighboring roof line. I couldn't just teleport blindly to the opposite side of the wall. I might teleport into traffic or on a sloping roof. Or Teleport might fail because the spell "perceived" I might directly injure myself, like materializing inside a wall. That often elicited a streamer of sparkles from my horn, as helpful as a flare under the circumstances. Sleepwalking Grimoire might have known where she was; I'd lost that information. "The way you shouted and kicked, I believed the threat." "I've been told I'm a great actor." "I've read reports of Grimoire the Enforcer, but not of any murders connected to him. Perhaps you're good at that so we haven't—?" "—I don't kill ponies. My boss—" "—Running Mead?" "Are you a constable?" "So you don't kill ponies. You could have fooled me, considering how you blasted down my door and chased me around town all night. I will concede that nopony got hurt—" "That proves it." "You're acting like a foal— Wait, you're a punk, barely a mare, aren't you?" I replayed my voice in my head; it was still at the proper register. "Are you a constable? An EBIagent?" Equestrian Bureau of Investigation. Oh, they'd really like to catch me, if they could figure out who I had been, or what bomb I had unintentionally helped set, or who had last seen Carne Asada alive. "Call me Detective Fellows. Logically, Lady Grimoire, you should surrender. By now, I'm sure last night's mayhem has been traced here. At the very least, when the Quill and Sofas opens and workers enter the factory floor, they will call for help." He suddenly jumped into the area where I'd crashed into the tower of crates. I saw glints of what I presumed was Shield or Mirror Shield, but it flickered as if it were hard for him to manifest before it went out. I'd yet to meet a pony who could effectively levitate water; I didn't trust the demonstration was representative of his true ability. An instant later, I teleported into the shelving area, splashing down in puddles of water mixed with burnt shredded cardboard. My second queued Teleport had a stupid error in the y-axis that converted into momentum. I slid on three hooves at an angle against the cement wall, behind the end of the shelves. That I rolled instinctively with the impact, thanks to my training, saved me from knocking myself unconscious, but I didn't spin well with three legs. I folded into a heap, gasping through the pain as quietly as I could. He was more than medium sneaky; quiet as a mouse, in fact. So... I was at the Quill and Sofas on Chestnut near Elm. I'd once slept in an alley off of Elm, about a block away, across from Blueblood Park where I had grazed at night during early spring due to lack of bits. The warehouse and factory outlet was at the edge of Cliffside, and I was sure that meant I was on ground level. It also meant I might find quills. As the first light of dawn streamed in above, I looked up, up, up, and across the aisle to find boxes decorated with swirly letters. The boxes contained cut calligraphy nib quills, which I levitated down, across the floor, and under my cloak into my saddlebags. He saw my magic. By complete luck, my eyes caught shadowy daggers hurtling my way. I reflexively triggered my last queued Teleport. He'd chucked a dozen shattered chowder mugs from the crate that had nearly crashed on my head. I landed squarely on the crane catwalk, a faint clank on the metal lattice announcing my appearance. However, I'd caught a whizzing earthenware shard in my magic as I teleported. It cut across my back at my withers, slit the fabric of the cloak and the skin below, drawing blood and a gasp. I cast Don't Look Don't See Don't Hear and let go of all other spell prep. The shard that had drawn blood clattered against the body of the crane hook, bounced and hit the metal siding of the upper far wall, then ricocheted a pony-length into a china cabinet, shattering the glass in front and the mirror in back. As glass tinkled to the ground, Fellows dodged. He positioned himself to peer down the row of shelves my sleepwalking-self had cornered him in. He jerked and looked a number of aisles beyond my position, but not up. He did not look up, even though the suspended walkway swayed, and to my dismay, squeaked ever-so-slightly. It was difficult to balance on three legs. My spell held. As far as I could tell. That he didn't look up was a good tell, though he might be faking it... I saw the harshly lit, steeply inclined shed roof of a building on the opposite side of Chestnut Street. I could teleport there, but would I be able to do a second before sliding to my death? No good. I stood in the middle of a long warehouse. I saw a steel fire exit door equidistant on either end, neither open. I might be able to target Teleport into a pony-sized square implied by the sweep of the door, but at this distance, I might miss, or misjudge the thickness of the door. Too risky. Could Fellows cast Force? He'd thrown things instead of blasting me. I assumed he knew Stun. It was the third spell average unicorns often learned, after Illuminate and Levitate—if they needed a self-defense skill. The candy-stripe-maned stallion picked his way silently around the furniture, entering my abandoned bunker of corduroy sofas. He wasn't coming close enough to my vantage point that I could hit him with a full strength stun bolt. If he wanted to hurt me, he would throw things. I shoved my face into my saddlebag to retrieve a mouthful of quills, avoiding the feather because the last thing I needed was to sneeze. I waited until he had passed under the catwalk, taking my time to select where I would make my last stand. Between the pulsing pain and exhaustion, I didn't know how many splendors of magic I had left. I need to be next to him were I to stun him because of the inverse square law. I decided that the stacks of wooden chairs next to a dozen mattresses set on their edge would work best. I waited until he looked away and dropped the quills over the side, hoping that he wouldn't see the fluttering things in his peripheral vision. I let go of my spell. Visible again, I quickly queued Teleport and Levitate. The stallion and my falling feather quills gave me the five seconds I needed. I caught the feathers as they settled on the furniture and, like arrows, shot them at the unsuspecting detective. Unlike last time, to see the aura around my horn he'd have needed to look up. I'd let the quills fall below eye-level just to ensure he wouldn't look up. Calligraphy nibs are blunt. These hit before he could flinch seeing them attack him. He jumped into the air with a loud whinny, then rolled away as if avoiding bees. He bucked over a dresser, which disintegrated with quite a racket. I teleported to my hidey-hole, knowing he'd be completely distracted and might not even hear the out-teleport pop. I appeared on target, a thick wall of mattresses between him and me. As I waved away the rising frost steam, I levitated quills across the floor to a decoy location—and sat down. I breathed hard and sweat. I rolled on to my left haunch and it hurt. I leaned into a mattress with my shoulder and left a smear of blood. A loud wooden crack sounded; I heard him trip, then silence. I knew the mattress would muffle my voice toward him, and make it appear as if I were elsewhere. I said, "Surely by now Detective Fellows, if that's your name, I have sufficiently frightened you so that we may agree I've done my job, and that you've done your job. Certainly, you know your cover investigating Running Mead is blown. Can we call it a day and go our respective ways?" "But, Lady Grimoire, I so wanted to meet you." I growled. Back in Sire's Hollow, before I'd ran away, adults referred to me by that title and it was hollow, hollow, hollow now that my soulmate had abandoned me to live the life-wreaking reality of his cutie mark. Nopony wanted to meet the real me, not even myself. My ears swiveled and I caught Fellows' soft hoof falls echoing off the walls to either side of the mattress. I couldn't have picked a better hunting blind. Time to do a course correction. I levitated quills off at a tangent, then flung them in the direction I suspected he was from where I wanted him to think I was. "Yow! Tu m'emmerdes!" he swore, something in Prench. I hoped I'd remember it for my list of curses. Heavy things fell and clattered metallically—he'd been levitating missiles! Speaking so the echo would convince him of my decoy position, I said, "It's a game. I put on a show—" "A show? Really? Do you not remember chasing me all over Canterlot, stunning a constable—" "Stunning, Fellows, stunning. No, believe it or not, I don't remember. Whether you believe it or not, I put on an act. I break a few things, scare a few ponies into fulfilling their commitments. I get bits. I move on. I refuse to sell product—drugs—and I don't want to know where or how the boss carries on his business. I'm extremely low value. So, can we call it quits?" I'd let the Grimoire voice slip. Considering my pain level, and the bead of blood running down my right leg from my shoulder, I didn't give a horse apple, either. "I can't do that, Lady. I will tell the judge that you didn't shoot when you could have. That'll be in your favor." Wait for it... He was nearly in position. I queued Teleport, Force with a Barthemule transform, Stun, and finally Levitate transformed to Shove, knowing the latter didn't need to be at all accurate. On top of everything else, a searing pain shot from between my eyes to the top of my skull as I pushed myself to my limits. Rainbow hot numbers whirled like paper-on-fire caught in a tornado. I was unsure if the blur was me having trouble staying conscious or the strain of the quick draw calculations trying to make my horn explode. Wait for it... I shoved the furniture. A chair jerked a lot closer than I would have hoped. No matter. I targeted and triggered Teleport. Of all the rotten luck! I appeared desk-level three pony lengths from the mauve stallion's right shoulder, catching him winding up to throw pot-metal horseshoe coasters and iron skillets at the noise I'd just made. I fell, and despite bending my knees in time, I only had three good ones. The fourth spiked me with pain. Gasping, I collapsed in a quarter-turn corkscrew. Fellows shook his head and with nary a smile—what might be described as a satisfied workpony's expression—rounded the ten hovering objects around his head and threw. He did not trust my word that I didn't want to kill him, I guess, and felt justified in using deadly force. I was no ordinary unicorn, however. Only the shock of pain delayed me from triggering the rest of my quick draw queue. The omega transform went smoother than ever. Force triggered before I could react to the attack. The expanding green bubble moved at the speed of a trot, intercepting the skillets and paper weights hoof lengths from my skull, flinging them upward arcing overhead to hit the wall behind. The bubble hit the mattresses behind me, knocking them down like dominoes. It swept up chairs, sofas, and a few leftover quills. Before me, it caught Fellows, stunned by the sight ofmy gigantic blob-like apparition, like a cow dazzled on railroad tracks encountering the cow catcher of a locomotive. He toppled toward me, then bounced off the rubbery surface like a wooden horse doll. He landed, rather adorably I might add, hooves up on a white and paisley red sofa with mahogany trim, his stallion partsvisible for all to see. Simultaneously with the spell bubble popping, I cast Stun. Blue-green lightning zapped him in the chest and surrounded him in a brief blue-white electrical glow, snapping and crackling, leaving the smell of an imminent thunderstorm in its wake. A thunder crack echoed across the warehouse. I wrapped my cloak over myself then grunted, shaking as I levered up. I staggered toward him, limping with an iron taste in my mouth. My lip bled from my last fall. To him, Lady Grimoire had to look particularly ghoulish. I looked into his magenta eyes. He blinked. Just because he jerked and wasn't able to move, didn't mean he couldn't hear or wouldn't understand. I said, "I said I don't kill ponies; I meant it. Take the hint and leave the Lower alone. I sure my boss has other enforcers. I'm just the most economically efficient one. Nicest, too. You seem like a nice pony, too—mostly. Let's not meet again." With that, I limped toward the fire door. I felt like I might keel over at any moment, and might be sick on top of it from what the pain was doing to my stomach. Nonetheless, I prepared Stun and Teleport. Good thing, too.